


Lessons Learned

by Stayawhile



Category: Eureka
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-11
Updated: 2011-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stayawhile/pseuds/Stayawhile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prologue:  A bachelor’s degree in criminal justice, earned over seven years at three different colleges, doesn’t cut it in Eureka. Jack Carter isn’t the only ‘norm’ in town, but most of them are married to geniuses, and none of them hold positions of authority. Pretty much the entire population is a world-class expert in whatever field they work in, whether it’s particle physics, dry-cleaning, dog-grooming, or advanced weaponry.   </p><p>He has gotten used to it. As a federal marshal, he learned things no university could teach, and years of therapy have helped him understand how to use what he has learned. He’s been in and out of counseling since the car accident when he was seventeen, and he likes to think he knows himself pretty well. He’s kind of fucked up, but who isn’t? At least he knows how and where he got his particular flavor of fuckedupness.   </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A U.S. Marshal learns about fear, or he finds another line of work. Jack Carter learned that lesson in an alley in Tijuana, in darkness and driving rain. The case had been long and ugly, scattered with corpses, and when they reached the endgame, Ramon Valderroz was between a rock and a hard place. The evidence Jack had gathered was the rock, but the hard place was a gang leader known for brutal executions, and so Valderroz had very little to lose. The look on his face when he took his first shot was desperate and wild, but not as awful as the smile that blossomed as Jack slumped to the cold pavement, in agony. Crumpled, feeling the gush of blood from his midsection, Jack knew the next shot would kill him. He was more afraid than any federal marshal should be, and ashamed of his terror. The last sound he heard was the crack of gunfire.  

As it turned out, his partner’s good timing and better aim had proved him wrong. Months later, finished with rehab and frustrated with inaction, Jack went to the firing range for recertification. The sound of gunfire set his adrenaline racing and his entire body trembling. Not good. He had dreaded going back into therapy, but it was that or quit his job, and he’d been lucky to find Joey, a retired cop on his second career. Joey knew what he was about, had been to some of the same dark places.   

Jack still dreams about that alley. The worst is still waking up, not knowing for certain that he is in his own bed and not the intensive care unit. In that moment the fear returns, full force, though years have passed and his gut wound is only a jagged scar. So he sits up, turns on the lights, and admits that he is terrified. Somehow that helps, and he has learned that it works in daylight, too. It’s against his personal rules to show it, but acknowledging the fear lets him set it aside and focus on what needs to be done.   

He deals with it later, in nightmares, after everyone is safe. His dreams have always been vivid, retaining their power well after he awakens. It’s more often a curse than a blessing.   

One morning, after a year or so in Eureka, he wakes up from an intensely erotic dream about Nathan Stark. Finding himself alone in bed with his cock so hard it’s aching, it takes a few minutes for the dream to fade, and he tries to hold on to the images, the sensation of skin on skin. When he takes himself in his hand, he can see Nathan’s eyes, looking at him with an intensity usually reserved for an interesting scientific problem. That jolts him awake. He sits up, scrubs his hands through his hair, and decides he needs a shower, longer and colder than usual. It’s almost time to get up in any case.   

At the mirror, lathering up his chin, he admits to himself that he is scared. He has never been sexually attracted to another man, and that’s strange enough, but to feel lust for Nathan Stark, a man he doesn’t even like, is unnerving. It makes him wonder what he doesn’t know about himself.  

He shaves, dresses, gets on with his day.  

*********  

Another thing a marshal learns to do is gather evidence. Jack was always good at that. Curiosity makes it hard for him to let go of a question, and he’s doggedly persistent. He finds himself noticing Nathan, and observing his own reactions to the man. During breakfast at Café Diem, for example, he watches Nathan’s hands, as the scientist answers his phone, issues orders to Fargo, checks email and enters something into his PDA. The fingers are long and strong, with a dusting of dark hair, and there’s a gracefulness in the way he taps on the tiny keyboard. He wears no rings, only his big Rolex, and silver cuff links inset with a shiny black oval. Onyx, maybe.   

He avoids looking at the other man’s face, because Nathan might return his gaze, and make a remark he is in no way prepared to answer. Jack finishes his coffee, mentally filing away the fact that he has just spent ten minutes watching Nathan Stark’s hands.  

The next morning, Stark is having breakfast with Allison. Jack takes a table in the back and stares absently at a point just past them, keeping them in his peripheral vision. He can’t hear the words, but the casual, friendly tone and the occasional laugh irritate him. It’s strangely satisfying when they get into an argument and Allison stalks out, leaving her breakfast half-eaten. He tries to define what he’s feeling. He’s jealous of how connected they are, how close. It’s disconcerting to realize that he envies Allison as much as Nathan, if not more.

Later that week, he gets called into Global, for what Fargo calls a ‘situation.’ Stark is his usual arrogant self, and that makes it easier for Jack to focus on the Level Three chemist who was found petrified in her lab. Typically, Stark insists the new organic-based polymer Dr. Cray was working could not possibly have turned human tissue to something like stone, while Jack looks at the statue of what was a woman, seeking some kind of clue. It’s almost routine: Stark yells at Fargo and insults Jack’s intelligence, Jack loses his temper, and they have another variation of the same argument they’ve been having for a year.  

“There are projects that cannot be shut down, Carter. We’ve got the Department of Defense coming in tomorrow, and they expect—”  

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what they expect! Damn it, this has already killed one person, and since Fargo touched the body, he’s probably been exposed. You may treat him like dirt, Stark, but I didn’t think you considered him expendable.”  

“I don’t.” Something flashes across Stark’s face, and he’s seen it before, only briefly, but then it’s gone, and the green eyes are narrowed again, the voice cold. “But evacuating the building is not necessary, and it is not an option.”  

Jack manages to convince him to at least evacuate Level Three, and heads off, muttering under his breath, to find Elaine Cray’s former research partner. When he drags Dr. Harrison back, Stark uses that same steely tone to bully the man into admitting he was in the lab, and of course, as usual, he had no idea his little bit of sabotage could be so deadly. Jack wants to bang his head on the wall—not his own, but Harrison’s. It’s the same damned arrogance that led to the last three funerals. Stark and Henry are discussing why everything they’ve tried so far hasn’t worked, and he wonders out loud about something Henry said, leading to the usual eye-rolling from Stark. But it gives Henry an idea, and after another frantic flurry of activity, Fargo doesn’t wind up fossilized after all.  

After the cleanup team arrives, Jack trudges down the corridor, tired but relieved. He turns a corner and there's Nathan, talking to Fargo. He looks up as Jack passes and says dryly, “Saved the day again, Sheriff.” The deep rumble of his voice and the genuine smile under the quirked eyebrow pings something in Jack, and his cock twitches.   

This should bother him, he knows, but he finds himself smiling back, replying, “Just another fine day in Eureka, scientist.”   

Jack goes home and SARAH pours him a beer, and he sits at the kitchen counter thinking about his day. As usual, he’s both sad and angry that someone has died, wondering all over again if whatever scientific progress that took place in that lab was worth a human life. At least no one else was hurt, the threat has been contained and Fargo has gone home to update his Buffy fan page, or whatever it is he does after a rough day. It’s satisfying to know that despite his lack of genius, he was an essential part of that. He’s done his job, protected his town. Even Nathan acknowledged it, in his own snarky way.  

As Jack goes over the events in his mind, he adds a few more data points to the file he’s accumulating. That the sniping and the sarcasm don’t really bother him any more. That this has been true for a while now, although he isn’t sure when it changed. That even during the crisis, he deliberately slowed his steps so his eyes could follow Nathan across the rotunda, watching his long stride and broad shoulders in that beautifully cut suit. That he has had the same erotic dream again, more than once.   

That he has begun thinking of the scientist as Nathan.  

He gets another beer, and looks at the facts clearly and objectively, as he has been trained to do. Yes, he is powerfully, painfully attracted to Nathan Stark.   

******  

As a marshal, Jack Carter learned patience. It wasn’t easy for him. He hates waiting around, he’s more of an action guy. Get in there and fix it, arrest the bad guy, shut down GD’s latest doomsday machine. Do it, whatever it takes.  

Experience has been a painful but effective teacher, and he tries not to leap before he looks now. He lost a partner that way, and even though it wasn’t his mistake, it still hurts. You add up the evidence, and sometimes all it shows you is how much more evidence you need. A thorough investigation is the key to a successful bust, he knows that. In any case, he can’t come up with a plan of action that won’t lead to disaster.  

He’s lusting after another man. That hasn’t happened before, so he decides it’s a data point that needs to be explored. Maybe something at GD, some experiment with hormones or pheromones, has brought out a latent bisexuality in him. He convinces SARAH to compile a list of all current GD projects, slaps a nondescript label on the file, and downloads it to a borrowed laptop. When he tells her it’s for a top-secret investigation, Zoë is willing to help him disable the laptop’s networking capability and delete the command from SARAH’s records. He hopes she’s too busy with friends and schoolwork to be nosy. Even if she is, he trusts her more than anyone.   

He takes a day off and drives seventy-five miles, to a doctor who has never heard of Eureka, to get his hormone levels checked. The test results say everything is normal.   

Jack starts going to the gym regularly. It’s not for the chance of catching a glimpse of Nathan, wearing a good deal less than his usual suit and tie, or at least not only that. He watches the other men, covertly judging his interest in male bodies. Dr. Svensson has the height and blondness of his Viking ancestors, and his shoulders and biceps are powerful and well-proportioned. Dr. Connolly is a runner, with long legs and a lean, graceful form. Rumor has it that Dr. Sheppard worked as a model to pay for grad school, and as he climbs the stairmaster, it seems plausible to Jack; the man even sweats attractively. And yet, none of them sparks an answering sensation in Jack’s solar plexus, or further down. Even as he notices and acknowledges male beauty in a way that is new to him, he does not want to touch these men, does not wonder what it would be like to kiss them.   

It’s only Nathan he desires.  

He considers going back into therapy, but his gut tells him not to trust Beverly. He could find someone outside of town, but it’s a long drive, and besides, he already knows what his issues are. He decides to try and figure this one out himself.  

Jack develops a new routine. He puts in an hour at the gym every morning before work, and sometimes he’s lucky enough to see Nathan, in shorts and a thin tank top that clings to his flat, muscled abdomen. When that happens, he adds a level to his weights, or ups the speed on the treadmill, so he can blame his red face and uneven breath on the intensity of his workout. Evenings, he lets Zoë choose what’s on TV—usually trashy prime-time shows about rich teenagers, which she and SARAH talk about while he slowly works his way through the data on the laptop. He doesn’t understand most of the reports, so he focuses on the abstracts, which give him a sense of what each project is trying to accomplish. There’s nothing yet that that would explain what is happening to him, unless he’s passed by it without understanding what he was reading. He acknowledges that possibility. It could also be that the project he’s looking for is too classified for SARAH to access. Maybe it doesn’t exist at all.  

He has always tried to keep up with what’s going on around town, but now he’s especially interested in the local gossip, which is Vince’s specialty, second only to food. He pays more attention to the conversations around him at Café Diem, listening for changes in relationships, improbable couplings, sudden switches in orientation. He hasn’t noticed anything, but then he doesn’t think anyone has noticed the changes he is going through. He hopes not; he’s been working hard at keeping his feelings to himself.  

Some nights he has vivid dreams of Nathan, in his bed, kissing him and more, their naked bodies entwined. Sometimes he dreams they are in the cell at his office, or on one of the sofas near the fireplace at Café Diem, and no one seems to mind as they devour each other. He is no longer frightened by the dreams; instead he looks forward to them, as a reward for the iron control he maintains during the day.   

He knows the dreams are as close as he will ever be to Nathan. Stark is 100% straight, after all. There’s nothing to indicate that he has any sexual interest in men, now or in the past.   

Then it occurs to Jack that six months ago, he would have said the same of himself.   

This is bad, because it makes him start hoping for the impossible, imagining improbable scenarios. What if whatever was affecting him had also affected Nathan, what if they had been exposed to the same chemical or weird radiation, what if Nathan—  

No. He refuses to let himself think about it, because the odds against that possibility are too high. He still doesn’t understand his obsession with the annoying, arrogant, sharp-tongued, gorgeous, completely unattainable scientist. He can’t control it, can’t make it go away, and that worries him. He wonders how long it will last, and whether anyone else sees it. Sometimes he thinks, the hell with it, I could just grab Nathan and kiss him, see what happens. But Zoë loves living in Eureka. He’s willing to risk his job, but not her happiness.  

He still flirts with Allison, but mostly out of habit, and as a way to pretend nothing has changed. She can tell his heart isn’t in it, and while she flirts back, it’s clear to both of them that neither really wants to take it any further. She’s too busy running GD and worrying about Kevin.   

One afternoon she stops by his office to drop off some papers, tired and frustrated. He can tell she needs to vent, so he offers a sympathetic, friendly shoulder.   

“It’s just too much, Jack. Mansfield is on my case for results, and I can’t tell you the details but the science just doesn’t support it. Our most promising theory didn’t hold up under testing, and he keeps bitching about deadlines….”  

“You’re surrounded by the smartest people in the world, Allison,” he says reassuringly. “They’ll come up with some brilliant new idea.”   

Allison sighs. “I’m surrounded by incredibly demanding prima donnas. They’re constantly pestering me to increase their budgets or their security clearances, and I barely have time to keep up with the requests. I can’t put in the kind of hours Nathan did, and take care of Kevin, too.” She gives him a tired smile.   

“So, how is Kevin?”   

“He’s…okay. We’re trying a new therapeutic approach. No clear results yet, but it’s early days. I keep wondering whether it would work better if I was the one working with him and Dr. Sherman. His nanny’s great, but she’s not his mother.”

Jack hears the guilt in her voice and it’s all too familiar. There’s no real substitute for time with your kid, he's learned, but he has no right to say that to her. It would only add to her hurt, so instead he reaches across the desk and puts his hand on hers. She lets it rest there for a moment, then pulls away.  

“Look, Jack.” She smiles, but there’s no spark in it, and her tone is apologetic. “I like you a lot, but right now I have no time, or energy, for anything like a relationship. I don’t want to start anything that’s going to fall apart because I have nothing to give.” She shakes her head. “Don’t take it personally. I told Nathan the same thing a month ago.”   

“Hey, that’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” He takes her hand again, meeting her eyes with his. The office is quiet, a little dust drifts down through the bands of light coming through the blinds. “We’re friends, right? Just remember, I’ll always be here for you.” She smiles, a real smile this time, that lasts until her phone lets out a shrill noise.  

“Blake here. Slow down, Fargo. Wait, he said what?” The tone of voice is pure Stark. “Don’t do anything until I get there. Ten minutes.” She is rising from her seat even as she snaps the phone shut.   

Jack rises too. “Anything I can help with?” Allison shakes her head. “Seriously, if you ever need anybody shot, or arrested, I’m your go-to guy.” He is pleased to hear a genuine laugh.  

“Don’t tempt me.” She heads for the door, then turns back. “Thanks, Carter. You’re a good friend.”   

Jack sits at his desk, debating whether to get another Vinspresso before facing the pile of paperwork in front of him. He hopes their conversation helped Allison offload at least a little of her stress. She’s beautiful and smart, and he’d like to make it easier on her. At the same time, he’s relieved that she doesn’t want more than friendship from him.  

He’s even more relieved that she doesn’t want Nathan, either.  

******  

Nathan isn’t making this easy on Jack. For some unknown reason, he’s toned down the nastiness, and his sarcasm feels less cutting, more playful. They manage to work together through a couple of typically Eurekan emergencies, and Jack wonders if friendship is a possibility. It’s not enough, though, not what he wants, and he isn’t sure he can get any closer without letting his real feelings show. But he can’t stop wanting to spend time with Nathan.   

Vince puts in a pool table, and it turns out Nathan likes to play as much as he does. It becomes a guilty pleasure, watching Nathan walk around the table to judge trajectories, his sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms, his shirt unbuttoned, silk tie hanging loosely from his collar. He bends to take a shot, and Jack’s breath catches in his throat. He covers it with a cough and moves to the other side of the table, but seeing the concentration in those narrowed green eyes isn’t much better. Nathan takes the shot, and as the balls roll into the pockets he looks up and smiles at Jack.   

Their eyes connect, and Nathan raises an eyebrow, as if Jack has said something interesting. A second or two passes before the scientist looks back at the table to calculate his next shot, leaving Jack wondering what that raised eyebrow was all about, what Nathan saw in his face.  

A couple of days later, Jack is doing bench presses in the gym. Finishing his last set, he leans over to grab his water bottle and realizes he is being watched. “Looking good, sheriff,” Nathan says cheerfully, then turns away to the treadmill. Jack sits up, takes a long guzzle of water, and if the muscles in his arms are trembling, well, it could be just the weight he’s been lifting. He watches for a moment as Nathan runs, the long muscles of his legs moving faster until they settle into a steady pace, then shakes his head and heads for the showers.  


	2. Chapter 2

Another thing a federal marshal learns is that luck always, inevitably runs out. In the back of Jack’s head he’s been running the odds, and he knows how many close calls he’s had at GD. Sooner or later, the law of averages has to catch up, and there will be something they can’t fix in time.  

Jack is on his way down a corridor at Global one Thursday afternoon, and just as he reaches Nathan his unlucky number comes up. An explosion rocks the building and there is a deafening roar of iron beams cracking and cement walls collapsing before it all goes dark.

Slowly, he returns to consciousness, and it takes a moment to sort out the messages his body is sending. The air is dusty, and his left leg hurts, a lot. His head aches too, but it seems to be lying on something soft and warm.   He feels a gentle touch on his face. He’s trying to remember what happened, exactly, and wonders if he’s had yet another concussion. No nausea, so probably not.   

“Don’t die on me, Sheriff. The voice is deep and raspy. “Stay with me, Jack. Please.” Slowly he realizes that his head is resting on Nathan’s thigh, that Nathan’s hand is gently stroking his hair.  

“Right here,” he manages to mutter, though it brings on a coughing fit that intensifies the pain in his head. Nathan breathes in sharply, a sound almost like a sob.   

“Glad to hear it.” Nathan’s voice is clearer, but still shaky. Jack carefully opens his eyes to the dim light. Something above them creaks ominously, and as more dust and dirt filter down, Nathan leans over him, shielding his face. Jack could weep at the irony. In his imagination, Nathan has held him this close dozens of times, but those dreams never included being trapped in tons of wreckage.  

“Okay, we’re not dead. So far, so good.” He coughs again. “Are you hurt?” Let me kiss it better, mutters the little voice in his brain that he’s learned to ignore.  

“My ankle is either sprained or broken, but other than that it seems to be mostly bruises,” Nathan says, sounding more like himself. “Got a cut on my head, but I don’t think it’s serious, just a scalp wound. With luck, most of the blood you’re wearing is actually mine, Carter.”   

“Scalp wounds bleed like a bastard,” Jack agrees. He wiggles his fingers experimentally, then moves his arms. The right one is badly scraped, but so far everything seems to be functional, if sore. His left leg seems okay too, but when he shifts the muscles in his right leg, the pain is so intense he cries out.   

“Jack! What’s wrong?” There’s real concern in Nathan’s voice, making Jack eager to reassure him.   

“No, no, I’m okay. Tried to move my leg. Bad idea.” He works on breathing evenly, shoving the pain to the back of his brain since there’s nothing he can do about it.   

“Don’t try that again. It’s pinned under a chunk of concrete.” Jack raises his head, and sees that the ‘chunk’ is actually a support pillar roughly the size of a redwood. Okay, a young redwood, but it’s going to take heavy equipment to move that thing. He sags backward, leaning against Nathan’s thigh.   

This isn’t good. It reminds him of the two weeks he spent in Turkey, helping dig out earthquake victims. He was in one of the early volunteer groups, so when he arrived there were people still alive, buried under the rubble. The screams for help tore him up, but not as much as the silence that fell a few days later. He remembers working with two other men for half a day, trying to reach a woman who alternately moaned and cried out in Turkish, the words foreign to Jack but the meaning all too clear. After hours of hefting rocks and beams and shattered masonry with inadequate tools, they caught a glimpse of her, and then suddenly something shifted. A single high-pitched scream, and then the small space was filled, the only noise a rattle of settling debris. Those days in Turkey, that scream, had become regular features in his repertoire of nightmares, especially since there hadn’t been much comfort when he returned. Abby had turned a cold shoulder; she had not appreciated his compulsion to volunteer instead of spending his vacation time with her and Zoë.   

Bad memories, and the present is no improvement. They could very easily die here.  

Nathan’s voice breaks into the bleakness of his thoughts. “How long before they find us, you think?” Jack can hear the fear under those confident words, and decides not to tell Nathan how slim their chances are.   

“Dunno. Could be a while. We were on Level 4, that’s pretty far underground, isn’t it?”   

“Quarter of a mile, maybe. We’ve got some light though, so there’s a way for air and sound waves to get through.”

Nathan shifts under him, digging in his pocket. “Suppose it’s too much to hope for…” He flips open the phone. Amazingly, a little light glows from behind the screen. “Hot damn!”  

“Call Fargo, tell him to grab a shovel,” Jack says jokingly.   

“No signal.” Nathan sighs, puts the phone down. “The good news is, it’s not completely dead, so the GPS may still be functional. At least they’ll know where to look.”   

Jack lifts his head again, examines their prison. The pocket in which they’re trapped is a little larger than a utility closet tipped on its side. A piece of wall angles above them, too close for him to stand up, even if he could. He looks for the source of the light, and spots a triangular opening where the wall is cracked, a steel beam protruding upward just beyond it. Not very big, but maybe big enough. He points to it.  

“Think you could get through there? Maybe climb up that beam? Worth a try…”   

Nathan looks up, estimating. “No, it isn’t. If I start climbing, I could trigger another collapse, and we could both be crushed. Besides, I’m not going to leave you down here by yourself.” Jack feels Nathan’s hand on his hair again, and he shivers a little. “You cold?”  

There’s a definite chill rising from the cement floor, and Jack nods. Nathan shifts his weight.  

“Okay, we should probably conserve as much body heat as we can.” Nathan places a hand under Jack’s head, supporting it, then setting it gently down. Jack closes his eyes, his attention shifting to the throbbing in his head, the pulse of pain in his leg. He hears Nathan moving, and then there is warmth all along the right side of his body as the other man settles in next to him, slipping an arm carefully under his neck.   

“Thanks,” Jack murmurs. “I guess you’re stuck with me for the duration.” He turns his head a little, settles it down, and is comforted by the steady beat of Nathan’s heart. Nathan’s other arm wraps around him, his hand resting on Jack’s chest.   

“Not a problem,” Nathan replies softly.  

They lie quietly for a while. Jack decides there are worse places to die than in the arms of the man he loves. He hasn’t called it love before, even in the privacy of his own mind, but as he contemplates their chances, he knows it’s true. He thinks about Zoë, how this will hurt her, and he wants to tell her, just once more, how much he loves her, his beautiful, brilliant girl. He’s glad they had this time together in Eureka, because she knows, now, how important she is to him. Plus she’s got a community that will to help her get through this. Small blessings.   

“It’s getting dark,” Nathan says. There’s something like dread underneath his casual tone. “Gotta say, Carter, I’m sorry I got you into this, but I’m really glad not to be alone down here.” He lets out a short laugh, with no trace of humor.   

“Likewise,” Jack replies. “And by the way, you didn’t get me into this. I was doing my job.” Nathan’s arms tighten around him, just a fraction, and he can feel the other man shaking his head. “Look, don’t blame yourself, okay? We’ll get through this.”   

He doesn’t quite believe it, and he suspects Nathan doesn’t either. He does know how dangerous it is to attempt this kind of rescue operation in the dark. Assuming that someone knows they’re down here and alive, it’s still unlikely that anything will happen before morning. Meanwhile, there’s the night to get through, and this strange intimacy. They need some distraction from the situation. “Well, as long as we’re not going anywhere, we might as well talk.”   

“About what?” There’s that irritated tone again, the one he’s gotten used to. It’s almost reassuring.  

“Anything. Hey, I know. Tell me what you were like when you were a kid.” Jack has always wondered how Nathan got to be the man he is, what was inside the shell of coldness and sarcasm. He only caught a glimpse, the night Callister Raynes died, but it intrigued him. Maybe that’s where all this began.  

“Nathan Stark, the early years.” Jack feels, more than hears, the quiet sigh. “Oh, what the hell. If you must know, I was a skinny loser with a big nose, too smart for my own good. I have no nostalgia whatsoever for childhood.” Jack makes an encouraging noise, and after a moment, the other man continues.  

“The only thing I really understood was mathematics. I loved the precision of it, the way all the pieces fit together, like a toy with lots of gears that meshed and interlocked. The rest of school was easy, but math was beautiful.” He pauses. “I didn’t understand the other kids, and apparently, it was mutual. I kept skipping grades, which made things worse. By the time I finished high school, I was a nasty, antisocial little prodigy with a huge chip on my shoulder. I was thirteen.”   

Jack brings his right hand to rest on top of Nathan’s. “Doesn’t sound like fun.”   

“I wasn’t,” Nathan says, his tone wry. “My parents had no idea what to do with me, so they shipped me off to college. Cal Tech. I was still younger than everybody else, but at least they were interested in some of the same things I was. I loved my classes. Hell, I loved my homework.”  

“Okay, now that’s just weird,” says Jack, hoping Nathan can hear the smile in his voice.   

“And then, of course, then I made the classic freshman-year mistake of falling in love with one of my professors. You can imagine how well that worked out.” He lets out a long breath. “I managed to hide it for most of the year. Lonely and horny every minute of every day. Tthe original teenage cliché.”   

It’s fully dark now, the blackness as thick and solid as the tons of weight above them. Their voices are the only thing left that feels real. “So what happened?” Jack asks.  

“At the end of the year, I decided to say something. Dr. Santori let me down gently, reminded me that since I was underage, he could lose his job. Told me to look him up in ten years. I went home and spent the summer sulking and teaching myself Italian.”   

There’s a brief silence while Jack digests the unexpected pronoun. Another data point, too late to be useful. “And did you? Look him up, I mean?” The body beside him is very still for a moment.”  

“Ten years later, he was dead.” Nathan’s voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. “This was well before the days of antiretroviral drugs. Hell, they’d barely identified the virus, and nobody was funding HIV research. What a goddamn waste.” Maybe it’s the darkness that makes it easy to hear every bit of bitterness and anger and grief in those last four words.  

“I’m sorry.” He is, sorry he asked, sorry that his well-meant question led back to a memory of pain and loss. He imagines Nathan at fourteen, skinny and lonely.   

“Water under the bridge, Jack.” Nathan breathes in deeply, lets it out, his chest rising and falling under Jack’s cheek. “Okay, your turn. Tell me all about your youth. I’m betting you were a big-time jock and your high school sweetheart was a cheerleader, and you were king and queen of the senior prom.” Nathan’s clearly trying to lighten the mood, and Jack doesn’t know how to tell his own story, just as bad in its own way. Might as well focus on the good parts.  

“Yeah, I was on the baseball team. Pitcher, had a pretty good arm, and all the usual fantasies about a glorious major-league career. We won the division finals my junior year. Probably the best year of my life.” Everything had been open and shining in front of him, and he can almost see the ballfield gleaming green in the sunlight, crisp uniforms and the symmetry of the bases. “I loved playing ball the way you loved math.”   

“And the girl? There must have been a girl.” The teasing tone is back, the one that goes with that sideways smile Nathan aims at him sometimes. He wishes he could see the smile, and that he could answer in a way that wouldn’t erase it.   

“Oh, there was. Angela Fairfield.”   Jack paints a word-picture of Angela, starting with how they’d met when she was a freshman and he was a sophomore. He’d always been a straight-arrow kind of kid, and her wildness fascinated him as much as her blonde beauty. He talks about the nights they snuck out to go skinny-dipping together, remembers her laugh, her crazy sense of humor, how she got the lead in the school play her junior year, and he’d meet her at rehearsals to make out in dark corners backstage. It’s been a long time since he let himself think about Angela like this, much less talk about her.   

“Sounds great. I think I’m jealous,” Nathan says.   “Don’t be.” Jack’s voice is suddenly grim. This is why he never talks about her. He hates the way this story ends.  

He takes a deep breath and explains about the accident and Angela’s death as briefly as he can, using pretty much the same words he had with Zoë. The weight of it settles back into him, the chunk of grief and guilt he always carries. Nathan is silent, but his hand moves to stroke Jack’s cheek, ever so gently. Jack feels a tear slip out, and he is surprised to find he isn’t embarrassed as Nathan wipes it away. Here in the silent darkness, he can weep in the arms of the man he loves, and mourn for all he’s lost, all the mistakes he’ll never be able to fix.  

Eventually, the tears stop, and Jack is oddly calm. There’s nothing and nobody left in the world except him and Nathan, and it’s enough. They lay together, the rhythm of their breathing perfectly synchronized.   

“Got a question for you, Jack,” Nathan murmurs. “Don’t feel like you have to answer it. I’m just…wondering.”  

“Okay,” Jack says.   

“Have you ever fallen in love with a man?”  

“Just once.” Jack answers. His throat is dry, from all the talking in the dusty air.  There’s a long pause. Then Nathan speaks again, very softly.

“What happened?”   

“Don’t know yet,” Jack whispers. “At this point, it looks like I wind up dying in his arms.”   He feels Nathan’s embrace tighten around him.

“You’re not going to die,” the scientist says fiercely. “Not now. I won’t let you.” He shifts his position, and suddenly he’s kissing Jack, and Jack pulls his head closer and returns the kiss, his whole body suddenly alert and electric and not at all resigned to death.  

It isn’t what he dreamed of. It tastes like dust and fear and desperation, and they’re lying on a cold hard floor, and he can’t look into Nathan’s eyes and see him looking back. In spite of all that, it’s more than Jack ever expected, this kiss that goes on until they’re breathless and gasping. It’s comfort and longing and a little piece of grace, this moment.   

“I thought so,” Nathan says quietly. “I didn’t know if I was imagining it. I hoped I wasn’t.” He shifts again, trying to find a comfortable way to hold Jack.   

“Wish I’d known that,” Jack replies. “I’d have gotten around to kissing you long before this.” He wriggles as close to Nathan as he can, shivering, whether from emotion or cold he can’t tell. “As it is, our timing really sucks.”   

“Someone will find us,” Nathan says reassuringly. Then there’s more kissing, soft and gentle and sweet, and Jack lets it push all other thoughts away.  

******  

Jack hadn’t expected to fall asleep, but he twitches awake at the sound of distant voices. His leg punishes him for moving so carelessly, but that doesn’t matter.   

“Dr. Stark! Sheriff Carter! CAN YOU HEAR ME?”   He’s never been so thrilled to hear Fargo’s voice. “Told you so,” Nathan says teasingly. He leans his head back and tries to respond, but his voice comes out as a harsh croak. Jack’s isn’t much better.  The voice seems to be getting closer, strangely resonant, and suddenly there’s a glimmer of light above them. It disappears, returns, gets brighter, goes dark again, and then it’s far too bright and they both close their eyes as something drops into their tiny cave. Fargo’s voice is right beside them, though it still sounds distant. “Are you there? Can you hear me? Come on, guys, say something, please…”  

“Fargo!” Nathan cries out. “We’re here!” Jack begins laughing and coughing, opening his eyes, to find a small mesh bag next to him, attached to a flexible metallic hose. From inside arises the sound of people cheering.   

Henry’s voice is next. “Glad we found you! Are you injured? We’re still working how to get you out, but Fargo figured out a way to send things down while we figure it out.”  

“I adapted the hyperflex snake technology to take a camera and some measuring instruments into the rubble. It can go around corners, through holes, letting us know what’s in the way, so we can get to you without triggering a collapse.” Fargo’s voice is shaky. “Then I figured we could also use it to send down supplies.”   

Jack opens the bag and pulls out two water bottles. “Fargo, you’re a genius!” he exclaims, pulling out one and handing the other to Nathan. They drink, both suddenly realizing how dry their throats are.   

“Tell me how badly you’re injured, and I can send you some medical supplies,” Allison says. “Some of the holes are pretty small, so we can’t send much at once.” Jack has managed to sit up, and he’s examining the remaining contents of the bag: a small radio, some bandages and disinfectant, a sheet of something that looks like aluminum foil, which he realizes is a fancy high-tech blanket. The camera is attached to the hose-thingy, red light blinking.  

“We’re not too bad. Bruises, cuts, I’ve got a broken ankle. As usual, Carter’s the real problem. He’s got a leg pinned under a pretty big hunk of concrete.” Jack hears this and some of his elation slips away. It’s Nathan’s usual voice, sharp and authoritative, with none of the softness of the man who kissed him. He’s Carter again, Eureka’s village idiot, and he wonders what will happen when they reach the surface. Maybe once they’re rescued, Nathan will decide these kisses were nothing more than the fear of death talking.   

Maybe this is all he’ll ever have of Nathan. The thought hurts more than his leg.   

Nathan doesn’t notice, he’s too busy following Henry’s instructions and scanning the space around them with the camera. He focuses the light on Jack’s leg and the massive pillar on top of it, and there’s a brief silence from the radio. Henry’s voice comes through, thoughtful and concerned.   

“Hm. We may have to rethink our strategy here. Don’t worry, we’ll get you out, but it may take a little longer than we expected. There’s no easy way to do this safely.”  

Nathan is cheerful. “Look, we’re alive, and we’re together, and you’ve found us. We can hang in a little longer, now get your genius butts in gear and figure out how to get us out!”   

“That’s the plan, Nathan.” Henry sounds confident.  Nathan grins wildly at Jack. In the new, bright light, his face is a filthy, smeared with dust and blood, and there’s a dark, ugly red patch near his hairline. Jack smiles back weakly, wrung out with emotion. After all the honesty they’ve shared in the dark, it’s hard to conceal himself again.   

The empty bag is disappearing back up into the darkness, but they’ve still got the radio and supplies. “You okay?” Nathan asks, his grin fading. “How’s the leg?”  

“Hurts,” Jack replies. Everything hurts, everything is sore, and part of him misses the dark and quiet in which they lay together, suspended between life and death. “Here, let me clean up that cut for you.”   

Nathan moves closer and bends his head. Jack cleans his hands as best he can with an antiseptic wipe, and uses another to gently swab at the abrasions, wincing as he tries to get out bits of gravel. The blood starts flowing again, and he takes his time, bandaging and taping carefully, not wanting to meet Nathan’s eyes.  

“Hey.” Nathan’s voice is gentle and low. “We’re going to live. Want to tell me why that isn’t making you happy?”   

Jack gestures to the radio, then whispers into Nathan’s ear. “Later, unless you want to broadcast it to the whole rescue team.” Nathan nods, picks up the radio and turns it over in his hands, then holds it up.   

“Mute button. We can hear them, they can’t hear us. Talk to me, Jack.” He scoots closer, putting his arms around Jack and pulling him close. Jack melts into the embrace, leaning his head against Nathan’s shoulder. A marshal learns not to shy away from the hard stuff. Get in there, do what needs to be done. Say what has to be said.  

“What happens next, Nathan? After we get out of here? Does this change anything between us?”   Nathan sighs, his shoulder rising and falling under Jack’s head. Jack’s heart sinks a little more, waiting for the rest of it.  

“Something…changed while we were down here,” Nathan begins. “I’m not sure how to put it into words…” A deep breath. “When I thought this was just a physical attraction, I could ignore it, pretend it wasn’t real. I can’t do that any more. I just wish it hadn’t taken being buried alive for me to figure out how much you matter to me.” Nathan leans in, kissing the top of Jack’s head. “For a while I thought you were going to die, and that was…I’m not going to let you go.”  

Jack raises his head, and there it is, those amazing green eyes staring into his, with the single-minded focus and fiery intensity that he’s craved. All that, all aimed at him. He gazes back, trying to convey the helpless longing he’s felt for months, the need and desire he couldn’t talk about. Apparently he succeeds, because Nathan moves in and kisses him passionately, and it isn’t cold any more, their hands are moving across each other’s skin and Jack is lightheaded by the time they stop.   

Nathan smiles at him. “Okay now?” Jack grins back, and nods, still breathing a little faster than normal. Nathan wants him, wants to be with him. The fact that they are still trapped barely registers.   

“Let’s lie back down.” The scientist unfolds the silvery blanket over them, and they snuggle in like they did the night before. “It’s a little scary,” Nathan says, after a few quiet moments. “I don’t have a good track record with relationships. I have a really hard time trusting people.” Jack strokes his cheek gently. 

 “I’ve got a divorce behind me too, Nathan. I’ve been reliably informed that my issues include intimacy, entitlement, and abandonment. And then there’s the fact that we both have bad tempers and tend to bring our work home with us.” He pauses. “And I don’t give a damn about any of that. I just want…”

“So do I,” says Nathan.   

******  

It’s another 18 hours or so before they reach the surface. While one team is carefully excavating a hole big enough for a stretcher, Henry is adapting his antigrav technology to build a tiny generator that can lift the pillar enough to slide Jack’s leg out from under. Fargo lowers down more water, and sandwiches from Vince. Allison sends painkillers and antibiotics, an inflatable cast for Nathan’s ankle.   

Jack decides to spend the intervening time teaching Nathan about baseball. “What else have we got to do?” He’s rewarded with a decidedly lewd grin, but given their situation he goes ahead with the baseball plan. Nathan is fascinated by the statistics, batting averages and RBIs and ERAs, the way each player’s stats interact and influence each other over the course of a season. He uses the phrase “dynamic symmetry,” and Jack resolves to take him to Seattle for a couple of real games, feed him popcorn and beer and make him do the wave, show him a kind of grace that can’t be captured in a spreadsheet.  

Finally, there comes the moment when Nathan has to set up Henry’s gadget, operate it, and pull Jack out of the wreckage. Timing is important, but it all goes according to plan, although Jack passes out from the pain the moment his leg is free. By the time he comes to, he is neatly strapped to a stretcher, and Nathan is pale and sweating. He figures the leg must be hamburger, but there’s nothing he can do, so he sets it aside. There are brilliant doctors waiting for him, a quarter mile up.

They can’t go up at the same time, and since Jack’s on a stretcher, he goes first. Jack understands the logic, but he doesn’t like it. What he does like is the way Nathan hits the radio’s mute button and kisses him thoroughly, a kiss full of unspoken promises. “See you topside, Jack,” Nathan murmurs, and then he presses something like a pen to Jack’s neck.  

Jack wakes up in an improvised hospital room at the Tesla School, clean and freshly bandaged. Nathan is there, holding his hand, and the huge windows let in slanting sunlight that bounces off the white sheets. Jack blinks at all the brightness, then focuses on Nathan, who is grinning like he’s won another Nobel.  

“Hey, you’re awake!”   Nathan smiles back.

Their eyes meet, and then Zoe, who’s been holding his other hand, envelops him in a hug. He looks from his daughter to Nathan, and Zoe shrugs her shoulders, and smiles. “It’s all good, Dad. As long as you’re alive.” Her voice breaks, only a little, and Nathan reaches across the bed to cover their joined hands with his own. So that’s all right.

Later, there are more visitors: First, Fargo, Vince, Allison, Jo, followed by dozens more. Through all of it Nathan remains at his side, laughing and talking, while his hand, never letting go of Jack’s, makes a quiet declaration.   

It’s all going to be a lot more complicated than it felt in the darkness under GD, Jack muses. Rebuilding GD is going to be a nightmare; hell, how long will it take to get security clearances for all the contractors they’ll need? He won’t be back at work anytime soon either, since his leg is going to need multiple surgeries. They still have to figure out how to be together as a couple, to live in Eureka, and they’ll probably fight like crazy sometimes.   

But there’s one thing Jack Carter has learned, from years in therapy and everything he’s seen as a high school kid and a marshal and a small town sheriff. You can’t take anything for granted, so when life offers you something good, you grab it and hang on, savoring every moment.  

The room is full of light, like a baseball field on a bright summer day, like the first inning of a whole new game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place early in Season 2. Comments always appreciated!


End file.
